


Hall of Fame

by ringerxo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, politicalactivist!Stiles, teacher!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringerxo/pseuds/ringerxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be students, be teachers, be politicians, be preachers...</p>
<p>A blog post goes viral. A man makes a fortunate connection. A rally is organized. The future is looking better and better. It should be, they've been working their asses off for it.</p>
<p>Stiles is a political activist that hooks onto  teacher Derek Hale's story. A few intense months come to fruition is a mass rally organized in Washington DC, and feelings come to light.</p>
<p>Featuring guest appearances by The Script, will.i.am., and fun.</p>
<p>Forgive the formatting snafus, I'm posting this in a hurry. I'll fix them soon!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hall of Fame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totastethestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totastethestars/gifts).



> Dedicated to Noga, for her birthday. You are freaking awesome and I'm so happy we met. <3
> 
> Un-BETAed, and will be revised. A bit of the pot is confusing, as was pointed out to me by the lovely [fydyan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fydyan/pseuds/fydyan), so keep your eyes peeled for a revised version!

**Present day.**  
Derek was dreaming about golden brown eyes and presidential bills when Laura nudged him awake. He grunted, only to have his earphones pulled out by his now-insufferable sister.  
Opening his eyes, he was about to tell her off, but then he saw her purple shirt, and everything came back to him.  
He was in the back of a noisy bus, standing in a traffic snarl right outside of Washington, DC. The bus was full of enthused teachers like him, teachers who were on their way to the Capitol because of him, really.  
Well, him and Stiles.

**Three months ago.**  
"Hello, dear brother," Laura greeted him as he walked through the door, yawning. He stopped in the entrance hallway to their small shared apartment and narrowed his eyes at her.  
"What did you do now? I swear to God, if you spilled any more chemicals on the kitchen counter--"  
"Is it my fault we can't afford a bigger apartment?"  
"No-- well, yes." He gracefully sidestepped the shoe that she threw towards him. "Not only did you choose to be a photographer, a job that pays shit, you couldn't use a digital camera. Oh no. So I--" he stepped aside again, dodging a balled-up sock that was lobbed at his head by a now furious Laura (who was very obviously trying to hide a smile) "--have to ask twice before using anything in the kitchen that isn't in a clear plastic container, because it might hold your developing chemicals."  
There was a moment of silence; Derek was standing next to the kitchen entrance, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow raised in defiant questioning, and Laura was fast losing the battle between holding the furious face and grinning like a fiend. Grinning like a fiend obviously won.  
"You gotta admit that was funny!" she called to her brother's retreating back. A raised middle finger was all she got in reply. Chuckling, she picked up her glass mug from the table and followed him into the kitchen.  
"So, you know that whole piece I did about you on my blog?" she said casually, watching Derek put away the dried dishes. He grunted in reply, and she dumped out the tea bag in her cup and riffled through their selection to get another one.  
"It got some press."  
Derek paused, holding a pot. "What kind of press?" he asked cautiously.  
Laura couldn't hide her grin. "You have no idea."

**Present day.**  
"You know I'm only doing this because Lydia would kill me if I didn't, right?" Jackson grumbled, grabbing another violet balloon and filling it with helium. "I bill hundreds of dollars an hour."  
"Well," Stiles shot back, deftly picking the balloon out of the fast track that Jackson had sent it on after tying it closed and adding it to the grouping he was currently tying with ribbon, "consider this payback for all the douchebaggery things you've done to me, ever." Pausing, Stiles added thoughtfully, "Or, start making up for it. This might just scratch the surface."  
Jackson's face folded into a scowl, but before he could say anything back, Allison burst into the classroom. "The buses from Ohio and Florida are here," she informed them with wild eyes, a pencil holding up her messy bun and a clipboard in her hand. "And they didn't being megaphones."  
The entire classroom groaned. Isaac, sitting in the corner and emailing furiously, shook his head and called out, "I'm on it!" Allison was about to turn and thank him, but Scott barrelled through the door and ran right into her.  
"Scott!" she screeched. He took a step back and covered his face with one hand, holding out an Oreo with the other. Peeking out from between his fingers, he saw Allison stare at the cookie with a predatory look for a split second, grab it, and stuff it in her mouth with a nearly orgasmic moan.  
"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, concerned, throwing little packets of Oreos around the room and grinning at the catcalls and scattered applause.  
"Nevermind, we have another crisis on our hands," Isaac cried from the corner, smacking his forehead with his hand. "The California buses are stuck in traffic!"  
"So?" Scott asked, nonplussed. Everyone rolled their eyes, and Stiles fidgeted testily. "Derek's on that bus," he muttered. "He needs to get here."  
"He'll be here soon, don't worry," Lydia's voice carried across the room as she entered, her sparkling purple heels clicking on the floor. Holding her iPad, she tapped out a few more words, locked it and smiled at them. "We have half the lobbyists in Washington going batshit over at the National Mall and a disproportionate but wholly satisfying amount of press out on the lawn. And, Stiles," she turned to the nervous man, "I just spoke to Laura. They're out of traffic, and they'll be here in about an hour."  
"They'll be the last bus in," Allison said, scanning her clipboard. "Is everyone else set up outside?"  
"Yeah," Lydia said. "Purple as far as the eye can see."

**Two months ago.**  
The computer bleeped, and Derek snorted himself awake. Rubbing his face with his hand, he pushed the lists of phone numbers aside and clicked on the blinking orange bubble in the corner. Stiles' face popped up, and Derek couldn't help but grin.  
Laura had put him in contact with Stiles Stilinski last month, when her innocuous blog post had gone viral. In the post, she told the story of a day in a life of a teacher, her brother Derek Hale, on his last day of work in an inner-city public elementary school in LA. Derek had wanted to go for his masters' degree for a few days of week and teach the rest, but the administration couldn't keep him on like that. So the best-loved teacher of sixth-grade homeroom, PE, and history, was laid off.  
Following the post was a news spot. And an article in a local magazine. By the time the phone call from the LA Times had come, Derek was busy running a petition across the internet and being a minor Twitter celebrity.  
And then Stiles had contacted him. When Derek saw the e-mail from him, he had taken a double-take; why would a gay-rights activist contact him? Sure, there was a bit of a kerfuffle when the Twittersphere found out that he was gay, and Fox  & Friends did a whole segment about how he was evil and it was good for the school that he left, but after that, it kind of died down.  
When Derek opened the email and read it, he felt as if he could fly.  
Stiles wanted to bring the case to Washington. 'The dawn of a new administration means we have people who have far more energy than normal to fight for what they believe in,' he wrote. 'And this issue is more important than ever. Education has to be tackled now, before the next war or financial crisis, and we have to strike hard and fast.'  
Now, a month later, Derek felt as if he had known Stiles all his life. They began Skyping a few weeks ago, and now they had nightly strategy meetings about their next move. The petition had gathered over 700,00 signatures and was making its rounds of the country; the next natural step was to get Washington on board. Somehow.  
"Wipe that grin off your face, sourwolf," Stiles said grimly. Derek's grin slid off his face to be replaced by a look of confusion and worry. "What's going on?" he asked anxiously, gripping the edge of the desk.  
A blinding smile flashed across Stiles' face. "We have a high-powered lobbyist on our side, and she knows aides. We're in the Congress, baby!"  
Derek let out a shout of laughter and fist-bumped the screen, a move that Stiles eagerly returned. Stiles shrugged, smiling softer now. "I just wanted to be the one to put the smile on your face," he said, 0ddly calm; before Derek could decipher what Stiles meant, the bright-eyed man launched into their marketing plan for the next few weeks.  
If one blog post had the power to spark a nationwide movement... well, maybe they could really make people move.

**Present day.**  
"I will never understand how you, of all people, have Nate Ruess on speed dial," Isaac sighed, shaking his head. Stiles grinned as he tapped out a quick text to Nate with the directions to the school and flopped down next to Isaac.  
"Jealous, Lahey?" he teased. "Too bad he's straight."  
"Also," Scott said, sliding into Isaac's lap and hooking his arms around his neck, "he's taken." Leaning down to Isaac, he was stopped by Stiles' waving hands and nearly frantic face.  
"Please, no PDA!" he pleaded. Isaac smirked and raised his head to meet Scott's lips for a short, sweet kiss, then turned to Stiles and said archly, "Just because it's going to take you a while to get it on with-- oof!" Scott had elbowed him in the side and was glaring at him; Isaac mumbled meekly and nuzzled into Scott's shirt.  
Stiles was about to say something, but the door slammed open; Nate was standing there, a rather wide smile on his face and a girl on his arm who was beaming as well.  
"Hey, Amanda," Stiles greeted Nate's girlfriend. Instead of greeting him back, she shoved her hand in his face, nearly blinding him with the massive rock on her finger.  
"Wow," Stiles said, grasping her hand and examining the ring. "When?"  
"Yesterday night," Nate said, sliding his hand around his fiance's waist. They both beamed, and Stiles groaned, throwing his hands up.  
"I am constantly surrounded by happy couples!" he cried dramatically. Everyone in the room burst out laughing, and Stiles resigned himself to a wan grin as he sent Amanda to Allison and ushered Nate out the door to the stage producer.  
"Did you manage to pull anyone else in?" Stiles asked Nate as the soundman set him up with the mini mic and reciever. Nate nodded, then waved to someone behind Stiles. "Nate, wee lad!" he heard behind him, and almost died.  
"No," he breathed, eyes wide; Nate only grinned. A long-fingered hand clapped Stiles on the shoulder, nearly toppling him over. After all, when your knees disappear because the hot lead singer of one of your favorite bands shows up behind you, said singer clapping you on the shoulder can cause you to--  
Ah, yes. Fall forwards. Like Stiles did.  
"You okay, mate?" he heard the Irish brogue, a concerned tinge to it now. Scrambling to his feet, he didn't even manage to babble his thanks before the soundmen swarmed over Danny and his band, fitting them and getting their instruments ready.  
"Got The Script for you, Stilinski," Nate called to a dazed Stiles from behind a crowd of crewmen. "Thought you'd appreciate it."  
"Oh, and Will's on his way," Danny called over at Stiles, who promptly shrieked and ran back to the school to tell everybody.

**One month ago.**  
"I hate C-SPAN," was Stiles' form of greeting Derek on their nightly Skype call.  
Derek nodded, too tired and sad to express emotion. He had seen the bill fall through, along with the movement's HQ; instead of filing away to various bars for pity parties with alcohol, he trudged home and called Stiles.  
"It's not their fault," Derek murmured, rubbing his face. All he could hear as he fought to keep his eyes open was Stiles muttering curses.  
And then, there was silence.  
Derek cracked an eyelid open; Stiles was staring at him, or staring at the screen, intently, face getting more hopeful by the second.  
"What?" Derek asked warily.  
Stiles grinned, the most beautiful smile so far (and it was hard to top some of the classics, and yes, Derek kept track), and said, "I have an idea. It can use some polishing, but it's our last choice. And it could be epic."  
"What?" Derek asked, a bit more alert now.  
"We march!"

**Present day.**  
"Hello Washington!" Stiles roared into the mic, and the crowd roared back.  
In his earphone, Allison informed him that Derek's bus had FINALLY parked and they were now unloading. She knew that she had to rush Derek backstage so he could get on, but Stiles wasn't thinking, only hoping that his heart wouldn't fly out of his chest and land on one of the monstrous amp stacks in front of him.  
"We all know why we're here," he said, and the crowd rippled as they cheered and flung the signs in the air, reading "More Teachers, A Better Tomorrow" and "Teachers Grow Our Future" in purple lettering. "We're here, because we want Congress to listen to us.  
"We tried through the regular channels, and we were shot down. What do we want? We want better education. I don't think that's such a wild thing to ask of the government, do you?" Stiles asked, and the crowd just roared.  
"We all know that the teachers of this nation are the most important soldiers we have in the battlefield of knowledge, and leaving it as it is today is abandoning them in the field. Will we let that happen?" he yelled, and the crowd answered, "NO!"  
"Are we going to fight for our future? For our children's future? For America's future?"  
The crowd must have said "YES" at some point, but all Stiles could hear was the roaring of the crowd and Allison yelling that "Derek's going on stage right now!"  
"And now, the man who got this snowball rolling - Derek Hale!"  
Stiles spun around-- and there he was. Slightly sweaty, out of breath, eyes bright, in a purple t-shirt and scruffy jeans, Derek looked as scared and pumped as he felt. And suddenly, Stiles felt as if someone had dropped a bucket of icy cold water over him. But in a good way.  
Because he was reliving the past three months in his head, and nothing was wrong with them at all. He had spent nearly every night on Skype with this man, had planned a revolution with him, heard about his life and his worries, about his family and his temporary job as a barista (that, as he discovered when Derek showed up on the screen one night extremely disgruntled, was a grave mistake, since all the hipsters that frequented that branch of Starbucks obviously read his sister's blog. He had been beleaguered by enthused twenty-somethings coming up to him all day and trying to either get his number, give him their number, or start political discussions with him), after which it had taken Stiles about five minutes to stop giggling, even though inside he felt the tendrils of jealousy curling in his gut.  
He knew this man, and now, seeing here, at the culmination of all their planning, he felt as if he couldn't move. So instead, Derek did it for him.  
Taking the mic from Stiles, he leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I want to kiss you, right now, right here, but I don't want the first one to be in front of millions of people. So wait for me next to the stairs", and then took the stage.

**Two weeks ago.**  
"Stiles?" Derek muttered into the phone. "What's up? It's 5:30 in the morning. I don't get up at these hours."  
"I thought you said you get up at these hours to run," Stiles' breezy voice carried through the phone. Derek winced, a headache pounding at his temples, and he swept the nightside table blindly for his glasses. About four different beer cans were knocked off the table, mercifully empty, and he groaned. Not again.  
"I do, but I spent last night getting trashed," Derek said weakly.  
"Oh." There was shock in Stiles' voice, and also... disappointment?  
"Don't worry," Derek found himself saying blearily. "It was a wild night in with beers, some SoCo and old M*A*S*H episodes."  
"What, no still?" Stiles teased, voice alot lighter. Derek frowned; why was he relieved?  
"Nope. Listen, can I call you back after I run and shower? I'm in no shape to hold a human conversation right now." Derek rubbed his hand over his face and swallowed a sigh. He'd have to clean up, and-- nope, he didn't have to wake Laura up, she was curled up on the shaggy rug on the floor, snoring.  
"Sure," Stiles said brightly. "Good morning, sourwolf, I'll be waiting by the phone and counting the minutes."  
About an hour later, freshly showered and standing in the kitchen, sipping the first cup of coffee for the day, Derek rethought the conversation. He was reading too much into the phone call, he decided, and was about to call Stiles back, when Laura padded into the kitchen with an uncharacteristically happy face for such an early hour of the morning.  
When Derek voiced this thought, her grin grew wider. "Oh, I just remember things that you don't, sourwolf," she said airily, grabbing a coffee mug and pouring herself some from the percolator. Derek scowled at her, and she giggled. But when she was settled at the small breakfast-lunch-dinner nook, she got serious.  
"Before you spend inordinate amounts of time trying to get it out of me, I'll just tell you," she said. "You declared your love for Stiles last night."  
She was lucky he wasn't drinking coffee at the time, because he would have sprayed it all over her. Instead, he just choked. "What?" he asked hoarsely.  
She nodded, a tiny little smirk decorating her classic features, merriment dancing in her blue eyes as she took another sip of coffee. "Don't worry, it was only to me. But you're going to have to act on it, little brother," she pointed at him.  
Covering his face with his hands, Derek groaned. He heard the chair being pushed back, and Laura's hand grasped his shoulder. "Don't worry," she said gently. "I actually think you have a massive chance. In the convos that I've sat in on, he seemed as smitten with you as you seemed with him last night."  
Derek just groaned again, wishing that he could run far away and not have to hear about this from his older sister.

**Present day.**  
Stiles was still sitting on a chair someone had kindly enough provided for him, with his head between his legs, trying not to throw up or-- he had no idea why his head was between his knees, okay?! It just seemed like the thing to do, seeing as he had NO IDEA WHAT TO DO until Derek came off stage and even then, he had NO IDEA WHAT TO DO.  
He had a feeling this would happen, but he didn't dare hope. Things had been moving so fast, and Stiles didn't realize how far he had fallen until he woke up about a week ago, painfully hard, after dreaming about Derek bending over in a classroom to pick something up. He knew he had a thing for the bright-eyed teacher from LA before that, but he had convinced himself that the man he was jerking off to in the shower for the past month and a half was some lobbyist that he had briefly had a torrid affair with. But after the classroom dream, he couldn't mistake those eyes for anyone else's.  
Or that ass.  
But now, Allison was standing next to him, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words. He could dimly make out what she was saying, but he couldn't hear anything except his frenzied thoughts of Derek Derek Derek came on to me on a stage in front of millions of people. Scott was dithering around him, alternating between crouching down to see if he was okay and turning to Isaac for help. The sandy-haired reporter was holding Scott's hand, trying to calm him down and somewhat succeeding.  
Allison cleared her throat. "I have to go take care of Danny and Nate, get them set up," she said haltingly. "You gonna be okay, Stiles?"  
"Of course," he said, voice coming out scarily calm. "It's not as if Derek just came onto me on a stage in front of millions of people."  
Isaac snorted with laughter, Scott choked, and Allison grinned. "I knew it!" she declared, and Lydia turned around from a few feet away and flounced over to give Allison a ten dollar bill, rolling her eyes. "Whatever," she said airily. "I still think that the President theory would have been cooler."  
The crowd's roars peaked once again, and Stiles could hear someone thundering down the stage stairs. "Is he okay?" he heard Derek say, panicked; before he could cobble together enough shreds of courage to answer him, he felt a tug on his wrist. Looking up, he saw Derek tugging at his hand, worried. The shirt was now plastered to his body with sweat, and the headset made him look... like in Stiles' fantasies.  
Wordlessly, he got up and followed Derek out of the backstage area and to the parking lot, between two buses. There was nowhere else to talk, and he hadn't managed to get Nate before he went on stage. He could hear the rythmic beating of the marching drums; they started their concert already. They were set for a full rep, and even though Stiles was a big fan, he could care less about Nate right now.  
Stiles sagged against one of the buses, ready to return his head to between his knees and stop himself from hyperventialting, but before he could, Derek placed his hands on Stiles' waist and propped him up. Startled, Stiles looked at Derek, who just shook his head and hugged Stiles, hard.  
After a few seconds, Stiles hugged him back, and sighed. "I've been waiting to do this for so long," he murmured into Derek's sweaty neck. He could feel Derek's chest rumble with a chuckle, and he took a step back. The affection in Derek's eyes was unmistakeable.  
"This is happening to me, right?" Stiles asked, half-joking. "Because things like this usually only happen in You've Got Mail and other vaguely good romcoms."  
Instead of answering, Derek's eyes took on a distinctly smouldering quality and he grabbed Stiles' waist, pulled him towards him, and slanted his lips over Stiles'.  
Instead of Stiles sagging against a bus, it was Derek being slammed into the other bus by a very enthused Stiles, who had groaned when Derek's mouth touched his, and bitten Derek's bottom lip so that Derek's mouth opened, allowing Stiles to lick his way in and deepen the kiss.  
Stiles slid his hands down to Derek's ass, squeezing hard once, twice, and letting go. Derek made a noise of irritation at the back of his throat, but quickly forgot when Stiles kissed his way to Derek's ear, biting on the lobe and earning himself a wanton moan, then trailed his way back to Derek's swollen lips and slowed the kisses down to languid, breathless kisses that left Derek's head spinning.  
Finally, they pulled apart a bit. Derek had his legs wrapped around Stiles' waist, while Stiles' hands were dangerously close to going down Derek's boxer shorts. They grinned at each other, both of them flushed and aroused; Derek kissed Stiles' nose and disentangled himself from Stiles, grasping his hand tightly. He couldn't keep the grin off his face, especially when he saw Stiles' mouth quiver with a supressed grin and his hair delectably mussed up.  
"Come on," Stiles complained as Derek dragged him back to the backstage area. "They all know what we're doing, we don't have to go back."  
"Yeah, we do," Derek said archly. "The Script are about to go onstage, and I'm not going to miss it." Wrapping his arm around Stiles' waist, Derek added softly, "Or experience it without you."  
\---  
Stiles and Derek were finding it hard to greet The Script and fun. without letting go of each others' hand. Finally, they let go, but stood close enough so that they were touching at all times. Allison, Scott and Isaac looked on with beatific smiles; Lydia leered; Laura giggled (and still was giggling); and Jackson mock-gagged, but not with the same amount of animosity as usual.  
Nate raised an eyebrow when he saw Stiles' and Derek's clasped hands, but said nothing. Danny ambled up and Stiles nearly choked; letting go of Derek's hand, he grabbed Danny's hand and pumped it up and down.  
"Oi!" Danny complained, with a slight smile. "I need that hand to preform."  
"Sorry. Huge fan." Stiles let go but didn't back away, staring at Danny with schoolboy adoration, until he felt an arm slip around his waist and a hand slip into his back pocket. Before he could turn to apologize to Derek, a warm voice whispered in his ear, "We have loads to talk about, but if you drool over the Irishman any more, I'll handcuff you to my bed so you'll be able to see but not touch anything, and strip to one of their albums."  
Eyes widening, Stiles turned to Derek, only to recieve a kiss on his cheek and an angelic smile from the man.  
"I can recognize marked territory when I see it," Danny said dramatically, throwing his hands up. Grinning, he added, "Doesn't really matter, I've put my eye on someone else." Behind Danny, Stiles could see Allison blush a deep red.  
"You're on in two minutes," a harried stage hand yelled at them. Danny turned to Stiles, high-fiving will.i.am, and asked him, "Do you want to join us?"  
Stiles gaped, and Derek answered for both of them. "Of course we would."  
FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs that I listened to during the writing of this:
> 
> The Script - Hall of Fame [feat. will.i.am.]  
> fun. - Some Nights


End file.
